I was terrified of the water until I was around ten years old. My Daddy's attempts at teaching me to swim (very barbaric methods, for sure) only made things worse. Many years later, he asked my forgiveness when he realized that he had added to my fear when I was a kid. I have spent many words apologizing to my own children in their adult years. We don't always know what we're doing wrong.
Our aunt and uncle visited from Illinois, early that 10th summer. Uncle Lloyd bought us a little 3-foot deep swimming pool at Sears and Roebuck, then proceeded to install the thing. That shallow water seemed plenty safe to me, and in short order I was pushing off the sides and swimming like a fish. It's easy to do that when all you have to do is put your feet down to catch yourself. Later, I went to 4-H camp, where they had a massive pool, teeming with scads of teenagers. I got comfortable in the shallows and then dared to go further, into the deep end. Clinging to the walls, I pushed off and swam to the other side, arriving alive. At last, I stood before the diving board, which seemed more like a cliff than anything meant for amusement. The line and the peer pressure behind me, pushed me bodily to the ladder. With a deep breath and eyes closed, I jumped, propelled deeply into the water. Frantically kicking and waving my arms, I burst back into the ozone where I could breathe again. I looked around and no one seemed surprised that I had made it. Kids were yelling for me to get out of the way of the next diver. I made it to the edge and realized I was finally, indeed, a swimmer. It became my beloved "profession" where I taught swimming lessons and lifeguarded for many years.
So when my daughter-in-love asked me to teach our five-year-old-twin grandchildren to swim, I pulled out that old file in my brain. Our first day of vacation, I was again tentative about the pool, not because of the water but because of my sheer whiteness and lack of exercise over the last year. 10-year-old sister Annabelle immediately began asking me about when the twins' first lesson would begin. I said, "Give me a minute!" I took a few to get acclimated to the cold water, then took off Addison's floaties. Bennett was next, not to be outdone. We started with getting our faces under the water, blowing lots of bubbles. There were the push-offs from the stairs, doggy paddling, floating and face-down forays in the water. We worked on their progress every day, with them keeping track as to whose turn it was. Within just a few days, brave souls that they were, they were swimming across the shallow end of the pool. The afternoon that I installed them at the deep end, their Mama was cringing. This was the real test. They took turns doing "pencil dives" (another word for jumping heartily into the deep), recovering and swimming across to me at the rope. I was so proud of their courage and endurance. Our last day, after two weeks of almost daily work, they both swam all the way across the pool from the deep end and did dives, retrieving objects off the floor of the pool. Their pluck and energy was inspiring. Their Mama and I agreed that they were now dangerous, with all these skills, and would have to be watched even closer now that they were doing this on their own.
Getting philosophical, I'm no longer a kindergartner (we didn't even go to kindergarten back in the day) and it seems that most of my frontiers have been conquered. But they haven't. There are still fears that confront me, old ones I thought I had in hand. Speaking up, when I need to, can be difficult. It's hard to kick against the bricks (the Bible says another word, but we don't use that word in the same way anymore and someone might be offended). It would be nice to go out like a calm lake, with everyone liking me. I think of the old ladies that I used to know, who just said the truth and didn't apologize for it. Not mean, just true. When I knew those ladies loved me, even when they said hard things, it affected me in good ways. It changed my life. It's an ancient scripture: "Speak the truth, in love." May I take a cue from my grandkids, dip my toe in that old lady pool and swim with boldness, without apology.
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